


While Sam's Away

by ficsandfuckery



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, While Sam's Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandfuckery/pseuds/ficsandfuckery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas pops in on Dean just before he’s about to jack off to some crappy porn film. Cas is intrigued, Dean is unamused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curiosity Killed The Cat, But It Didn't Kill The Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Sometime around Yellow Fever and It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester. Slight spoilers for season 4, but nothing beyond that.
> 
> Author’s Note: I’m in the process of catching up to where Supernatural is at right now and I’ve only just finished season 4, so this may be a bit outdated. (Though I don’t think it is and would appreciate it if you didn’t tell me if it is.) I’m in the midst of writing a part two right now, so that should be around within a few weeks.
> 
> Warnings: The usual, I don’t own the characters, though they own me… This stuff is only canon if you want it to be… Whatever…

It was late on a Wednesday night, and Dean had the motel room all to himself. Sam was off with Ruby supposedly following up some lead on Lilith, and Dean had elected to stay behind rather than hang around with the demon whore. Instead he ordered a pizza, turned on some Casa Erotica, and settled in for the evening alone. He was just getting to the good part in some sort of lesbian love triangle, and he was considering taking off his pants and having at it, when the lights and the TV flickered.

Dean’s hand immediately moved from his fly and he reached for the loaded shot-gun lying just within reach on the floor as he swore under his breath. After a long moment of motionless silence but for the moaning girls on the TV, he calmed down a bit. He laid the shot-gun on his lap for quick access, accidentally-on-purpose in such a way that it was more than a little stimulating. Nerves still just a bit on edge, he returned to the angsty sex scene playing out in front of him. Just as Jennifer pushed V away to get Ronnie all for herself, Dean was startled out of his erotic state of mind yet again - this time by a distinctively deep voice.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jumped and aimed the gun at Cas for a second before rational thought kicked instinct out of the way and he put the gun down next to him.

“Cas,” he sighed. “You always know the best time to show up, don’t you?” Castiel looked at the graphic scene playing out on the TV. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Do I?” he asked, his eyes turning back to Dean. Dean grimaced and blushed ever so slightly as he quickly fumbled with the remote to turn off the TV. When he turned back to look at the angel, he noticed that Cas was observing the rather noticeable bulge in the front of his jeans. Dean crossed his legs stiffly and cleared his throat, calling Cas’ attention back up to his face.

“No, actually. That was sarcasm,” he answered testily, the whole situation making him feel uncomfortably exposed. “Look, can I do something for you, Cas? ‘Cause I was kinda in the middle of something.” Cas analyzed him for a moment.

“You mean degrading the actresses on TV by watching them have sexual intercourse for your own limited pleasure?” He asked plainly. Dean looked at him dumbfounded. He’d realized that Cas was a special breed of socially awkward, but if he didn’t know better, he’d think that the feathery pain in the ass was making fun of him.

“Yes, Cas. That’s exactly what I was doing,” he replied defiantly. “And my physical reaction to the stimulating image of their bare asses isn’t going away on its own anytime soon, so if you’d like to get to the point, or maybe leave, that’d be highly appreciated. Either way I’m finishing myself off here in a minute. So you’ve got that long.” His annoyance at being interrupted grew, and he looked pointedly at the clock on the coffee table. Cas didn’t speak. Dean looked over at him angrily after a moment, and gestured for him to spit it out.

“I can’t recall what was so urgent for us to discuss privately,” he confessed. Dean sighed exasperatedly. “Encountering you in this situation has distracted my train of thought. I can’t remember what it was that I had to tell you.”

“Well it probably wasn’t too important then. Maybe if you go away and come back in, say, five minutes, you’ll remember,” Dean suggested with seriously shaking patience. Castiel gazed at him in that way of his, and Dean fumed under his gaze. “I’m serious, Cas, I will do this with you in the room if you don’t fuckin’ leave now,” he insisted. Cas was silent for a moment. He looked down at his feet, for a moment looking almost ashamed.

“Do it,” he answered lowly, looking back up at Dean with powerful eyes. Dean looked almost scared.

“What? Cas, is this some sort of perverted, angel peeping tom thing? Because I will not feed your sick habit.”

“I’m hardly a peeping tom, Dean. I am in the same room as you,” he pointed out. Dean laughed sourly.

“Blow me, Cas,” he replied. “Why don’t you just give a man some privacy for five minutes?”

Castiel tilted his head slightly and just barely shifted a foot forward. Dean tilted his head in turn before realizing what the angel was thinking, and taking on a more startled and defensive posture.

“No. Cas, it was a figure of speech. Don’t even think about it!”

“I’m not leaving Dean. I have to keep a watch over you either way, and this way I’m less of an ‘angel peeping tom’ as you said.”

Dean growled angrily, but his resolve to get Cas out of the room wasn’t as strong as it could be at that particular moment. He had bigger fish to fry, and for whatever reason, the angel’s presence wasn’t having the expected effect of making him less aroused. In fact, quite the opposite.

“Well have a seat then,” he growled defeatedly. “May as well enjoy the show.”

The angel crossed the room and sat down in a chair near the TV, facing Dean head-on. Dean took a swig of the beer he’d set on the floor by his bed and unzipped his jeans, unable to stop himself from glancing at Cas as he settled into his seat.

“Comfy?” he asked sardonically.

“Yes. Thank you, Dean,” the angel replied. Dean rolled his eyes, and quickly lifted his hips to slide his jeans down to his knees. He slipped a hand into his briefs.

“Do you require this?” Cas asked, turning the film back on with a nod at the TV. Dean turned it off with the remote just as Jennifer moaned loudly.

“No, just talk to me,” he answered after a moment, running a thumb slowly down his length. Cas seemed deeply confused by this.

“Why?” he asked.

“‘Cause if you’re gonna be a creep, fine. Two can play at that game.”

“I fail to see the connection.”

“Keep talking.”

“What do you want me to talk about?” Dean pressed himself slightly harder, causing a flush to creep into his cheeks as he breathed more heavily, glancing cautiously up at the angel.

“Anything. I don’t care. How’s life as an angel?” he asked in exasperation. Cas thought for a moment, his gaze shifting between Dean’s tented underwear and his uneasy face.

“I don’t know. It’s okay I suppose. I don’t feel emotion the way you do, so I can’t really explain it in your terms, Dean,” he replied unsteadily. Dean slipped a fingertip over his head and let out a barely audible sigh of a moan as Cas said his name. The angel looked startled, but also slightly pleased. He continued.

“Seals continue to break with alarming speed daily, and the orders from on high have been increasingly confusing…” Dean closed his eyes and pulled his cock out of his underwear all the way. He squeezed himself tightly, falling into a rhythm of twist and pull, and Castiel fell silent, watching curiously.

“Go on. Keep talking, Cas, you son-of-a-bitch,” Dean grunted, opening one eye to look at the angel.

“I’m beginning to have doubts,” Cas admitted, his voice lower than usual. He leaned closer to the foot of the bed. “Some of the things my brothers in the garrison have been doing lately don’t seem…” Dean groaned quietly, paying no attention to the potentially blasphemous things Cas was saying; simply listening to his voice rise and fall as he spoke.

He slid his hand to the tip of his hardened cock and rolled his fingers back and forth over his head, driven by a now nearly feverish desire for release. He let out an involuntary groan, and Cas noticed his ears redden in a short moment of humiliation. Dean cursed under his breath, but it sounded more blissful than embarrassed.

“It makes me nervous, Dean. I haven’t been nervous in a very long time, and now I remember why I didn’t like it,” he said, the tone of his voice changing slightly as Dean slowed his rhythm for a moment to catch his breath when it became too much. His eyes followed every movement with interest.

“I have been allowing myself to feel too much since we met, Dean. Uriel thinks that I have fallen in love with you. He might not be incorrect, but I do not have experience with any love but the love I have for my father, so I do not know how to tell.”

Dean reflexively thrust his hips upward slightly, and opened his eyes to look across the room at the angel. Cas looked right back at him and saw himself reflected in Dean’s lusty green eyes. He felt a twinge of some unfamiliar feeling deep in his gut and ignored it as Dean unwound slightly more with each pull.

He was panting noticeably now, and not making nearly as much effort to hide his groans as he neared the edge. Cas kept talking as Dean groaned and cursed - first under his breath and then drowning out the angel’s words entirely. Though he was still dully aware of the angel’s presence and what it meant, Dean cared less and less as his pulse quickened and the pleasing tension in his midsection was brought to a tipping point and he made less of an effort to keep quiet.

When he finally hit his peak, Cas was expecting it, and he continued speaking, but just quietly enough to be able to hear every moan and breath out of Dean’s mouth. Dean’s breath quickened dramatically and then his face cleared into a beautifully peaceful expression, all traces of guilt and self-loathing temporarily erased. He shuddered and let out a low groan that may have been the beginning of the angel’s name.

When the last shudders had left his body, Dean heard a quiet rustling of wings and understood that Cas had left him. He sighed and opened his eyes to see that Cas was now sitting on the bed next to him with his back against the headboard. True to character, the angel looked calm and composed as if he hadn’t just watched Dean engage in one of the most humiliating and personal acts a human can do. Something Sammy hadn’t even really witnessed though they’d been sharing bedrooms since he was five. Dean licked his lips nervously, refusing to meet Castiel’s constant gaze.

“One word of this to anyone and I swear I will kick your feathery ass if it’s the last thing I do,” he muttered as firmly as he could. But he was uncomfortable and nervous as hell and it showed in his voice. Cas disregarded it for the time being.

“You were not listening to any of the things I just said,” he said. It was a statement, but Dean answered anyway.

“Not really, no. I was a little otherwise occupied. Why? Did I miss something important?” he asked, carelessly wiping off the tip of his cock with a finger and shoving it unceremoniously back into his briefs, only concerned with getting it out of sight.

“I suppose not,” Cas replied thoughtfully. Dean grabbed the tissue box from the coffee table to clean himself up, without moving from his seat on the bed. After a quiet moment, he realized that Cas was still watching him closely. Mostly his face, but still.

“I bet you do this with all the guys you ‘raise from perdition,’ don’t you, Cas?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood even if he was the only one feeling odd in the situation.

“No one has ever been raised out of hell before you, Dean. You’re very special,” Cas replied seriously. Dean laughed. Of course Cas would take that and turn it into an opportunity to get all “chosen one” on him.

“Thanks, Cas. I appreciate it,” he replied, stuffing the used tissues in the empty pizza box and throwing that in the direction of the trash can. Cas frowned slightly. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m exhausted. I’m gonna get some shut-eye before Sammy comes back with some new crazy-ass plan to slay the big bad demon. Stay around and watch me sleep too if you want, at this point I don’t fuckin’ care. Just don’t let Sammy know you saw… all that. Okay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replied, making no move to leave. Dean reminded himself that just because Cas wasn’t moving to leave didn’t mean he didn’t plan to, but he was asleep before he could see if Cas was going to continue creeping or not.


	2. Angels Don't Count Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas watches Dean sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I hadn't put this up earlier, it's been sitting on my google drive for months. Better late than never though, eh?

Castiel didn’t have to wait long before Dean was fast asleep beside him; a fact that interested and slightly surprised the angel. He knew the workings of the human male body enough to know that its energy was usually exhausted after ejaculation; but as he had never seen it happen up close like this before and had never experienced it himself, he had never thought of it being so instantaneous.  
Dean hadn’t even bothered to kick him viciously out of his bed, he had been so tired. The angel decided that he liked this feature in the human male. He would have to remember to thank his father for it one day. Castiel watched Dean’s face closely as it was gradually wiped of it’s usual lingering unhappiness. When his breathing was deep and slow and his face was still and temporarily free of pain and worry, the angel smiled.  
When the battle is won, he thought, you will never have to worry again, Dean. All of your sorrows will be removed once and for all.  
Castiel pondered how in just seconds Dean’s body had changed so much. Though it was still performing all vital functions, his personality was now absent in almost every aspect. His face looked peaceful and his defensive posture - evident even when he had been awake and lying comfortably, propped up by more pillows than strictly necessary - had evaporated completely. Despite what the angel knew of him and his ability to watch after himself, Dean looked vulnerable in that moment and the angel felt a rush of protectiveness wash over him.  
He reached out a hand and touched Dean’s shoulder lightly; directly on the scar where he had gripped him when they had first met months ago in the hell. The scar was only half visible from under the edge of Dean’s shirt sleeve. It looked rather painful, and he would have felt bad, but reason reminded him that it was either Dean got that scar, or he was stuck in hell for the rest of eternity. His vessel’s hand didn’t quite fit over the raised shape of his true form's hand, but it was a close match.  
Dean’s sleeping form moved under Castiel's hand as a slight shiver went through his body, but he continued to sleep. He retracted his hand, realizing that his touch on that particular spot may have some sort of undesired effect on Dean. He didn't know for sure – there were no guidebooks on these sorts of things because Dean was the only human ever pulled out of hell and Castiel the only angel to do it – but he could think of a few things that might happen, and decided it was best if he save that sort of trick for later. Instead, he settled for watching. Dean had said he could watch.  
In the dim light of a table lamp near where he had been sitting earlier, Castiel began counting Dean's freckles. His eyes grazed slowly over Dean's forehead; his nose, his cheeks, the curve of his neck, and his Adam’s apple. Finally he gave up at 107, when he ran out of skin because of Dean’s utterly unnecessary black t-shirt - still wet and probably a bit sticky on the lower midsection.  
He glanced over the small bit of exposed waist, where the dirty shirt had lifted. Even with the unsatisfactory glimpse it provided the angel could see how well muscled Dean was, especially for someone who spent so much time driving across the country and eating unwholesome foods. As he watched Dean’s belly rise and fall slowly with each breath, he noticed a small smudge of semen left over from his hurried clean-up, and without thought, carefully wiped it off the lightly hairy swoop of skin beneath Dean’s belly button with the tip of his finger.  
Dean drew a breath in sharply through his nose and shifted just slightly away from Castiel’s hand, but did not wake. The angel looked at his finger for a moment, wondering what to do with it, before he settled for wiping the sticky white smudge on the sleeve of his coat. His eyes traveled further down Dean’s outstretched body: the waistband of his briefs and the curve of what they obscured from view. Castiel recalled to mind perfectly what it had looked like, and vaguely wondered what something that looked like that was doing on a man who was otherwise so perfectly made.  
That was the downswing of the human male, Castiel decided. The penis. He tried to avoid dealing with Jimmy's as much as possible. Surely there was a way God could have made it less jarring to look at. But it did have a good purpose, and – if touched properly – could cause a man considerable pleasure. He had just witnessed the latter part first hand. It was definitely better, Castiel reminded himself, than some of the animal alternatives.  
The angel looked down past the edge of Dean’s briefs to the bit of his thighs that showed above the loose waistline of his jeans. They were sprinkled with lightish hairs, and the skin there was whiter than on his chest, arms, and face. The muscle here wasn't quite as well toned as on his arms and abdomen, but was still impressive.  
Castiel spared a glance at the jeans, pulled down just above Dean's knees, and wondered if it was uncomfortable. He imagined it would be if Dean were awake, but so would having an angel in his bed. Castiel reminded himself that the only reason Dean had allowed him to be here in the first place was because he had been aroused enough when the angel had arrived that he could not just ignore his erection.  
Castiel brought his eyes back up to rest on Dean’s face, and he carefully observed every detail once more; committing to memory one of God’s finest creations since the original man: every hair and pore and freckle; his nose, and ears, and the curves of his feminine lips.  
As he looked at them, Dean’s lips parted slightly in the middle, the corners still held together by dryness, as a slightly bitter breath escaped. Castiel looked at them thoughtfully for a long time before he realized that he was licking his own chapped lips. He had never had the urge to kiss someone before, but suddenly he understood that urge. He looked away.  
I am an angel of the lord. I cannot kiss my charge. He would most likely wake up, and he would be very unhappy. I am becoming too attached. Uriel is right.  
He took a deep breath and said a quick prayer for self control. One he’d never had to say before, but still knew by heart.  
Maybe I should leave.  
Dean let out a sigh and turned towards the angel, still fast asleep. Castiel cast a glance at him, and noticed Dean’s right hand was almost touching his side.  
No, he is too vulnerable while he’s sleeping. I will stay with him until his brother returns and wakes him up to continue hunting down the demon Lilith.  
He put his hand out to gently touch Dean’s, and Dean’s hand closed over the angel's. His grip was tight for someone in a deep sleep, but still not impossible to break free from. The angel left it there, adjusting his hand just slightly so that it was more comfortable, as he watched Dean’s face uncertainly.  
The edges of Dean’s dry lips turned up just slightly for half a second, and he murmured sleepily what sounded very much like his nickname for the angel. Castiel watched in silence for a moment before he heard Dean's steady breathing again and was surprised how relieved he was by the knowledge that Dean was still asleep.  
“You are a very confusing individual, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said lowly. The resting hunter at his side turned his hips slightly in his sleep, causing his briefs to shift just enough that they were no longer entirely doing their job. Castiel glanced down the newly exposed skin, but looked away when he got an oddly unfamiliar sort of heavy feeling in his low abdomen.  
Dean frowned, and his hand squeezed Castiel’s so tightly for a fraction of a moment that if he’d been human the bones in his hand would have broken. Dean let out a pained gasp, his face showing extreme discomfort, and he curled up on his side facing Castiel. The angel frowned. He knew exactly what was causing this sudden change.  
Dean hadn’t truly forgotten a moment of his time in hell, and it tormented his broken mind every night. The dreams were coming. From Dean’s lips escaped a heart-shatteringly weak whimper, and the angel considered the explicit orders he’d been given: not to use any thought-altering powers on Dean or Sam; and to do what they said, not the other way around.  
Castiel realized that he had already broken the rule about doing whatever Dean said when Dean had first asked him to leave, and wondered if it could be argued that the rule about his powers was only meant for situations where he might consider using mind control to convince him or his brother to do something they didn’t want to do.  
Relieving Dean of these painful memories for one night – giving him one restful sleep free of their torment – could not possibly be wrong, could it?  
He continued to hold Dean’s hand in his as Dean’s face contorted in pain and his body moved in small, silent convulsions. Castiel softly moved his thumb over Dean's fingers in a comforting motion as Dean’s breath came faster for the second time that evening, this time for a very different reason. His body twisted and turned under imagined tortures, knotting his loose jeans and the cheap bed sheets beneath him around his legs into crude, makeshift shackles.  
Castiel continued gently moving his thumb over Dean’s knuckles even as Dean fought to rip their hands apart, the angel hoping without much conviction that the touch might help him in some small way. Finding his legs trapped, Dean ground his teeth and struggled desperately against his bounds until they came free; but in his mind he was still trapped, and sweat began to bead on his forehead and tears in his eyes as he shook and groaned.  
As the seconds passed slowly by, Dean's breath slowed before picking back up again. This time the memory was an even more brutal one. Clutching at invisible wounds and muttering an almost unintelligible combination of English and Latin, Dean's whimpers and cries were now loud enough that Castiel decided this must be an unusually horrifying dream or else Sam would have been much more desperately worried for his brother, and as incapable of leaving Dean's side as the angel suddenly found himself.  
Castiel continued to slowly caress Dean's hand with gentle reassurance as he looked on with an expression of miserable helplessness on his face. He didn't dare go against heaven. Surely there was a purpose to Dean's suffering, and by ending it he would sabotage their good work. Dean thrashed and moaned, his one hand stationary, held tight by the angel as he relived a month of his years in hell.  
He was being stabbed and cut, peeled and sliced, and when he thought he couldn't take anymore he was being repaired for another round. Alistair was reminding him that his dad had been down there as well, and gotten even worse.  
He told him horrible things about his father, and about Sam, and cut him with a knife he said was dampened with holy water. It stung, and he cried out at the pain, and the thought that even holy water could hurt him now. He was now truly his own worst enemy.  
Castiel brought his hand to the hunter’s flushed and sweating cheek, and placed it there gently, but with a firmness that Dean wouldn't shake off.  
Alistair carved into Dean's face slowly with the wet knife, and he let out the scream of a slowly dying animal.  
Dean squeezed Castiel's hand tighter than before as he screamed in pain, and the angel allowed him to squeeze until it hurt so much his vision blurred, wishing that Dean could give him his pain to bear and take from him the angel's numbness.  
Dean jerked awake, startled out of sleep by his own cries. He didn't bother to take his hand out of Castiel's, and his eyes stared blindly up at the ceiling for a long while before he could even see the hotel room around him. Finally he shivered, still fighting to recover his breath, and he turned to look at Cas, who looked the most human Dean had ever seen him.  
For a moment, Dean wondered if the angel was even in there; if it wasn't just Jimmy sitting next to him, stroking his hand and his face. Castiel saw in Dean's eyes more than ever the damage that had been done to him in the pit. He saw what had been lost, and felt the loss himself. Somehow, for the first time, Dean was making him truly feel. He felt utterly miserable.  
Dean himself looked shaken and weary. He didn't seem to remember, for a moment, what Cas was doing in his bed, and when he did, he didn't appear to care. He was past shame, or whatever other emotion might come to him under less nightmarish circumstances.  
Seeing this was worse than the thrashing of imagined tortures. This was real life, and this was Dean losing his humanity because of what he'd seen and was continuing to see every single night. Castiel's voice cracked as he spoke.  
“I am so sorry, Dean,” he whispered. Dean watched hollowly, not bothering to wonder what Cas was sorry for, as the angel leaned over him. For a moment the angel looked uncertain, but a glance at Dean's dead eyes brought his lips to Dean's cheek; and – focusing his efforts – Castiel put Dean into a deep sleep. One without dreams; in which he might finally be allowed some rest. He sighed when Dean let out a regular breath, and he slowly moved back as Dean’s muscles relaxed.  
The kiss hadn't been entirely necessary for the influence to work, but Castiel had felt it would be more comforting and powerful than just a touch to the forehead like he'd done with Bobby Singer at their first meeting. Anyway, from Castiel's observations Dean seemed to like receiving kisses.  
Carefully, keeping his eyes on Dean's tranquil face, Castiel untangled Dean's legs from the bed sheets so that he was no longer trapped, and removed Dean's shoes and jeans. He set the shoes side by side next to the bed and folded the pants neatly on top of them. To replace their minimal warmth he covered Dean with the sheets from the side of the bed he'd been sitting on.  
He had defied heaven for the second time in one night. He would most likely be hearing about this from Uriel later. For now though, Castiel focused on Dean. He remembered that Dean's shirt was still wet and unclean from what seemed like hours ago. Carefully, he adjusted the blanket over Dean's midsection and lifted at the shirt. It was harder to remove the shirt of a sleeping person, though, than the already-almost-off pants.  
Dean squirmed slightly, though his face remained calm and relaxed. Castiel decided the shirt would have to stay, not wanting to trigger more dreams or wake him from his short respite. He re-covered Dean with the blanket, and – in an effort to continue not thinking about what he'd done – used a corner of the sheet to wipe some of the sweat from Dean's still shining face.  
Castiel heard a car pull up and he stiffened, listening intently to the sounds outside the hotel room. The driver’s door of a 1967 Chevy was shut out in the parking lot, and Castiel could instantly feel the presence of a deeply unholy being nearby. Sam was back, and he reeked startlingly of the demon he’d been spending so much time with.  
Castiel looked over Dean one last time. As footsteps neared the door, Castiel brought Dean’s hand to his lips and gave it a quick kiss. He was gone with a rustle of feathers just as a key turned in the lock. Dean turned over in his sleep and slept on, for once undisturbed by nightmares of his past.


End file.
